Tuesday, July 09, 2013

I've been meaning to write this up for a couple of weeks but hadn't got round to it. In all the hubbub since I got back, I've been gradually filtering through some of the stuff that I worked on and trying to process all the learning in amongst the fun. A bit like my camera taking a long time to process a long-exposure shot, it's taken me a while.

So, I went out to the Alps for a couple of weeks. It's not only the first time I had a 'holiday' holiday (as opposed to a working-on-events holiday) in a good few years, it's the first time I'd been away for a prolonged bout of boating in even longer. We headed out for the first two weeks in June, which also meant that, because of event work over most weekends, it was the first time I'd been in a boat in a couple of months. Plus, I was paddling with a bunch of (as I've phrased it before) 'gung-ho kiddies' all a good ten years my junior. Yes, I'm the old man of the group. But hey, it didn't cost anything to put me on the car insurance, did it? Age has its advantages...

I'm not going to go into the usual minute detail of each day and river, those are down in my river log and I've already picked them apart to see what I can learn. But some bits really stick out, at least to me!

The first day was nerve-wracking for me. While Oli, Tom and Simon had had a quick play on the Slalom course next to the campsite on the Saturday evening, Tash, Will and I were all pretty shot-at after the full day drive down from Calais so we'd left it. Sunday morning I had to keep reminding myself that the first run doesn't count, I was that shaky. Alpine rivers are fast, I knew that. Maybe it was the speed, the time off, etc etc. But I was excreting sizeable chunks of masonry either way. It took a while to adjust, but I started getting there - less moments of having my weight on the back of the boat, more controlled carving, faster ferries etc. Nothing revolutionary, but bit-by-bit improvements. All pretty good so far.

We'd talked as a group about what kind of stuff we were going to run, and the 'classics' were definitely on the register. A lot of grad 3/3+, though in comparison to the usual UK grade 3 that's a pretty meaningless number, few grade 3s in the UK have that much volume of water firing down them. The Lower Guil (Mont Dauphine Gorge) was a lovely cruising river, the Sunshine Run on the Durance was a great fun, if gentle, run with the sting in the tail - the Rabioux wave - that caught Tash out. I couldn't have been happier to make it through that one the right way up, knowing my roll was still a bit shaky.

We had a few moments of clashing and confusion on the Guisane - after spending an hour cutting a fallen tree out of it - when the whole 'eddy-hop' concept bypassed a couple of people - but it was a good run anyway. I portaged the S-Bend section, it looked like a lot of pinning potential for not a lot of gain. Though Oli and Will ran it and enjoyed it, my head wasn't there for it, and the walk-round was fine. The Gyronde had me going for every tiny micro-eddy and jet-cross with a massive grin on my face - what all those nights on the Washburn were training for, it seems. After we'd paddled down the lower-volume rock-dodge, the confluence with the Durance and the extra volume coming down the Slalom course was a wake-up call in itself. Lots of work on active blades and paddling aggressively needed to keep the boat running forward and the nose down. The group order had just kind of worked itself out - Tom led, usually Will seconding, Tash and Simon in the middle, then Oli or I bringing up the rear. Everyone seemed happy with that arrangement, and it worked well.

I took Wednesday off - tired old bones, I'm afraid - on the Wednesday and drove shuttle while watching the others run the Upper Guil. I guess that was the day where the group dynamic became visible to me, as I watched it from high up on the gorge wall, looking down at what looked like it could be a tricky, sticky little drop and seeing the guys come down, inspect, set up safety, probe, then run down as an amazingly well organised group. I felt proud, though I'd done little to influence any of it. Maybe it's just the 'being old' thing, feeling happy when the little'uns do a good job. Who knows.

Beth, Jamie and Rhi joined us on the Thursday night, along with Sarah, who's coming to Leeds Uni next year. They offered to run some slightly pushier stuff with us, so the next day we set off for the Briancon Gorge. I'd love to say that this was an awesome hit with me, but in the immediate aftermath it wasn't: It had pushed me, hard. I ran a lot of it right on the outer edge of my confidence and control, sometime a bit too reactively. I came out unscathed, no rolls, no swims, but it had pushed me right to the departure lounge of the comfort zone. Stood in the get-out layby I admitted as much, and felt a touch of relief flood over me, but also a wave of contentment: That was hard, but I did well, let's take from this what we can and keep learning.

Beard wins race.

We headed to the Onde after that, which honestly I don't remember too much of. It was a good run, I'm fairly sure, but tree hazards leading to a walk-off kind of marred it. Such is early-season Alpine boating I'm told. Saturday's run of the lower Claree was the much the same, fun but ended with a walk-off. Somewhere amongst this we did an Inflata-Cross race, paddling rubber rings, kids dinghies and a paddling pool down the Slalom course, which somehow I won, with a bunch of beers as a prize. Another day we drove over to the Souloise, Drac Blanc and Severaisse. I didn't paddle for head and body reasons: it was cold, I was tired and mentally not with it. I half wish I had, but wouldn't have wanted to be a liability and wasn't feeling right.

The second week we started by heading back to some of the runs we'd done already, things we'd enjoyed and, since the levels were coming up a fair bit with the warm weather. A second run of the Gyronde (just in case there was a tiny micro-eddy I'd happened to miss somewhere) was a cracker, including boofing the weir we'd had to portage on the first go. The second run of the Upper Guisane was my kind of 'Bingo!' moment, nailing the S-Bend just perfectly, hitting a nice flare/boof at the bottom. I'd been hesitant at the top - though the extra water meant less of a pinning problem and it looked a lot nicer - but following Tom into the steep lead-in ramp, getting the first two or three moves out of the way, and then the instinct kicks in and everything just flowed, down to that bottom move, time the stroke just right and we're through. The words don't really express the feelings, but take my word for it, it felt awesome.

The Wednesday was another 'revisit something with a shedload more water in it'. Back to the Briancon gorge. Hmmm. The mindgames started running again: It had pushed me first time round, what would it be like with more water? I was on the edge of control last time, is it too much now? It took some fighting, mentally, but I got on, promptly missed the first eddy (as I had done last time round) and thought "oh Christ, here we go again..." How wrong I was.

Second time round it was an absolute blast. We ran as two groups of 4, and both groups went for the 'minimal eddy hop' option. The slide round the weir was good fun for a little kick of airtime, the landing a lot less bony than our first run. The crux section, where the river steepens and drops around a blind left-hand bend came up quickly, Oli skipped the eddy just above the curve and left me sitting higher up, on my own. Oh well, now for that gut check, then, I guess. I set off down, just trying to drive the boat through the waves and rocks, set up for the turn and the drops, and carve into the eddy at the bottom grinning like a crazy loon. Well worth getting on, well happy with the day, with a tangible feeling of progression. Not often you get that when your paddling days are weeks apart.

We had a rest day on the Thursday and went to do some bits of Via Ferrata and climbing at the crag below the clock tower in Argentiere. Climbing when it's 30+ degrees is a little silly. We spent the rest of the afternoon throwing fluids down our necks desperately trying to fight the dehydration. Still managed to do the small VF and second a couple of excellent shortish 5a graded climbs. But the initial plan to go do a bigger Via Ferrata in the Durance gorge was thwarted, just too damn hot. I did get on the Slalom course to work on some rolling in the current, though, thinking sticking my head into the raging waters of the Durance might help cool me down. It definitely did, and I got in my only rolls of the holiday. Since they were deliberate, they definitely don't count.

Friday was the last day, and the Ubaye was on the hitlist. The levels had been chugging up slowly all week and were headed off the charts, so we headed to the Upper and got on for a big, bouncy, massively high blast down to Jausiers. It turned out to be the grand finale of the week as the Racecourse section was far too high for any margin of safety, but all of us walked away from it with a big smile and pretty satisfied that we'd had an awesome fortnight.

For me, the whole thing was a big confidence boost, a new appreciation of just how good and how pushy some grade 3/3+ paddling can be, and a real boost on both a practical and a psychological level. Hopefully I can keep working on things over the summer, whether that's at the Washburn, Teesside, Tryweryn or, if it ever rains, on some real river. I know there's still plenty to play with, and there's still my 3 aims to work towards. And come the Autumn, there'll be a new bunch of freshers to work with and plenty of paddling opportunities to look for.
For now, it's all good...

Thursday, May 16, 2013

After a fitful nights sleep, punctuated by one of our room's occupants getting up to go to the loo, one snoring, one farting and one making the bunk creak every time he rolled over, we got up. At this juncture I should probably point out that we were sharing a 3-bed family room, and let you try and figure out to whom each of those four categories applies.

YHA breakfasts are as they were way back when I worked in the YHA - basic, stodgy, cheap and very much worth it. Geoffrey and I split the last bit of Black Pudding, since apparently the lady booking the breakfasts at reception had got the numbers a bit wrong. Ross got extra veggie sausage, and declined the black pudding - strange that. And there was plenty of cereals and toast available to plug the gaps around the fryup, if so required. We so required, plugged said gaps, donned our best (or second-best) lycra and got the bikes ready for the off. Before we offed, we also donned our best waterproofs, since the morning was, frankly, a bit miserable. Leaving Once Brewed was easy, down the hill into a big dip. Climbing the other side was a bit of a stretch, and led to a wee bit of frantic thrutching, grinding and crunching gears to get up and over and then turn left onto the Stangate towards Vindolanda. This turn marked the start of a long, straight, smooth downhill, which again ended abruptly in a big dip. I think the Romans needed to work on their engineering: They'd mastered straight roads, but they still went down and through some nasty dips. More bridges needed next time, Romans.

The dip at Vindolanda was also particularly rough. It's a shame, as there's good tarmac in one side, a horribly washed out, chopped up, pitted crap bit in the middle, then good tarmac out the other side again. Being the only one with drop bars, I clung grimly on down the rough bit. That said, being the only one with disc brakes, at least I knew I could stop a bit quicker if needed. Anyway, more thrutching and grinding and we were soon up the other side and up to the high point of the ride at Crindledykes. Since it was still precipitating upon us, a continuous heavy drizzle with additional road spray, we didn't stop to take a picture, but plodded on, knowing full well that about 5 miles of continuous downhill was to come. A steady trod alongside Grindon Lough and then the gradient started to decline, and we rolled downwards with ever increasing pace, swiping at the glasses every now and again to clear the spray, and in my case wishing I had brought my waterproof shorts, since through a single layer of lycra my thighs were completely frozen. We finally bottomed out at Newbrough, and tried to ease some life back into frozen fingers, toes, legs and backsides as we started having to pedal again through the backroad to Fourstones, and through another 'Navigator's Choice' route, direct along the South Tyne, rather than loop north-east and come down the North Tyne from Warden. At least it had stopped raining, and once along here, we were back into familiar territory for me, cruising under the A69 into Hexham and across Tyne Green, which doesn't look quite the same when it's not covered in tents, gazebos, and mildly inebriated kayakers.

The first appointed coffee-and-dry-out stop was Tesco cafe. We left the bikes locked up and under the watchful eye of the carwash blokes, in a bike park apparently built to house the entire Tour de France peloton. Ours, oddly enough, were the only bikes in it. The place was just what we needed: cheap, cheerful, has toilets and hand dryers and perhaps most importantly, wipe-clean chairs ("I feel sorry for whoever sits down on these after us" was Dad's considered opinion). After the gap-filling and cooked breakfast, none of us was in need of cake, but a large mug of coffee certainly hit the spot. We trooped to the bathrooms one-at-a-time to try and get some bits dried off and warmed up, then finished up and rolled back out of town.

The next stage of the route was a gentle, undulating roll along easy and well surfaced back roads, via Corbridge (a little bit confusing, signage could be a touch better/more frequent), Bywell (Ross: "I recognise this bit: Last time I drove along here we had to wait for the floodwater to drop") and then absolutely parallel to the river to the first of the 'Tyne Crossings' at Ovingham. Unsure of the signage at the narrow Ovingham bridge (there's a "Pedestrians Only, No Horses" sign on the footbridge, and the vehicle bridge is only just a single car width) we fired across the vehicle bridge and waved to the nice man who'd stopped to let us across. A sharp right just after the bridge and we were into car-less trail in the Tyne Riverside Country Park. Nothing exceptional to reports from here, a couple of short-steep climbs of the 'where the hell did that appear from?!' ilk, then over a lovely old metal railway bridge and along the old lines through and beyond Wylam, birthplace of George Stephenson. That probably explained the railway, then.

After a little navigational dispute ("The pub's thataway!" "Yes, but the NCN Signs says thataway!"), a bit more riverside gravel track and our first bit of dog-dodging since Carlisle we arrived at Feed Station 6, otherwise known as the Keelman Inn, Newburn, home of the Big Lamp Brewery. Dad had been raving about this place since we left Hexham, and he's a fan of both his food and his beer, so we assumed it'd be alright. Credit to the staff, they didn't bat an eyelid at a trio of grubby blokes in lycra standing at the bar on a busy Sunday lunchtime, though they did look relieved when told we were sitting outside. Two stotties full of meat (with chips) and one Mediterranean veggie wrap (with chips) and a pint each and we sat in the sun, enjoying the day and watching the lady in front of us's dog chew its way through a half pack of paracetamol it had found. We obviously weren't the only ones getting anaesthetised.

The Keelman was a bit of a turning point, in a way: We knew that at the YHA, most of the weekend's climbing was done with; we knew that, from Hexham, we had no more big descents; and from Newburn, we were more-or-less off the pleasant, leafy backroads and gravel tracks, and into the urban streets and concrete. After Newburn you start hitting the industrial estates that line the Tyne, and while a good effort effort has been made to put cycle lanes in, make dual-duty pavements, make crossings easy, like a lot of urban cycle infrastructure it's very stop-start. Riding along the dual carriageway through Scotswood might be intimidating and dodgy, but it's more flowing than having to skip backwards-and-forwards across at the traffic lights to follow a cycle path that isn't sure which side of the road it's supposed to be. Things got better as we got closer to the centre, and the Quayside path started, taking us off the busy main roads, and rounding the long corner to the famous view up the Tyne, past the famous bridges - Redheugh bridge, Edward VII rail bridge, Elizabeth II Metro bridge, High Level, Swing bridge, Tyne bridge and the Gateshead Millenium 'blinking eye' - gave a fantastic view. The traditional Quayside Sunday Market was just starting to close, a tradition that even the old restrictions on Sunday trading couldn't stop, and it's been going since the 1700's. There's a temporary restriction on cycling through the market, but instead of following the proscribed detour signs we just dismounted and walked through the crowds.

Beyond the market was the place I'd been raving about since the Keelman - The Cycle Hub at Ouseburn. I first came up here for a 'bike jumble' a while back, and thought it was a cracking little place, part bike shop, part hire joint, part cafe. It seemed to be well timed on our route for the afternoon coffee stop, so stop we did. We locked the bikes up outside and wandered in, ordered coffees and cakes, had a bit of banter with the staff, Dad wanted to know "who do I see about a pot of arse lard?"; Ross, settling into the sofa just asked "I wonder how much they charge for an hours sleep here". I spotted the three-person bike suspended up above the doors and wondered if that would be a good solution for our next tour. We re-sorted ourselves eventually, gathered our belongings and wits about us, and set off once more. We were all wincing at getting back on the bikes at this point, bums a bit sore from the previous miles, but onwards we wandered. This final leg was actually one of the least pretty of the whole ride, a mix of industrial estate, housing estate, glass-strewn cycle path and urban pavement, with a short stretch that looked like it had been the scene of this year's annual 'burn-out-a-car festival'. Not quite the same as the big views and open sky up on the Wall itself, but a necessary evil, and probably better in general than trying to ride along the main roads would have been.

Soon we were at another landmark on our ride, albeit a not-very-scenic one: The Tyne Pedestrian and Cycle Tunnel. The escalators were closed, so we looped round to the lifts, and wheeled our way through the deceptivel short tunnel to the far side of the river and into Jarrow, then through more urban streetwork, though a bit better signed, through old terraces of housing and around the port area into South Shields. One more obstacle, though, a split in the signage, two different cycle routes, and obviously, we took the wrong one. Rather than follow the signs for the Tyne Ferry (since, y'know, we'd just used the tunnel) we followed the Route 1 signs, which took us up and over the ridge upon which South Shields sits, then started to turn Southbound. Knowing that that wasn't quite right, we stopped to ask a couple of people if the knew where Arbeia, the famous (or at least, fairly well know) Roman fort was. The first one: not a clue. While I know we all take our own locality for granted to an extent, not knowing that there's this whacking great Roman fort in the middle of your home town? Crazy. Fortunately, the second one did, and it wasn't that far away. For future reference, it's on Fort Street, surprisingly enough.

We wearily climbed the last hill, having failed to spot a certain Blue octavia pulling across the junction just ahead of us, and spotted the Fort Street sign. Turning the corner, I spotted Mum climbing out of the car, camera in hand: Time to pose as a team. Geoffrey arrived at the summit, we formed a rolling roadblock, and cycled slowly in to the finish.

The end - Centurions Armer (Jr), Armer (Jr) and Hendry

All in all, we had a fantastic weekend of riding. Nothing majorly taxing, around 90 miles total (42 on Day 1, 49 on Day 2), plenty of coffee and cake stops (no need for energy gels and bars on this one!), lots of chat, and excellent company. We weren't racing, just enjoying a couple of days of pushing ourselves a little bit, and getting in some lovely scenery on the way. Thanks to Ross and Dad for planning, sorting and being part of the ride, and to Mum for dropping us off, picking us up, and providing the pink fizzy stuff to rehydrate with at the end. I've my eye on a very different coast-to-coast next, but Hadrian's Cycleway was a (mostly) lovely way to get one under the belt.

Thursday, May 02, 2013

It's been a good while since I did anything in the way of long-haul cycling. There's been a fair bit of commuting to work, but that's only a handful of miles each way. There's been a few short MTB rides over the winter. Aside from that, the last time I did any serious riding was the 12hrs of Exposure and since then, I've just been bimbling. So when Dad came out with the plan to ride the Hadrian's Cycleway, it seemed like something that would probably kill me. The full route is 174 miles, Ravenglass to South Shields (or Glannaventa to Arbeia, if you're pretending to be a Roman), but with only a weekend we decided Bowness-on-Solway (Maia) was the better start point. Apparently, this is the actual western end of Hadrian's Wall itself, and the rest down to Ravenglass an extension, the Western Sea Defence, plus for our purposes, it brought the first distance estimate to a nice round 100 miles. And cleverly remembering the old adage that 'misery loves company', I roped in Ross to suffer along with me. It seemed like the best idea.

The appointed weekend came, and we gathered in Torpenhow on the Friday night, faffed with kit, deliberated about weather forecasts and tried to work out what we needed in terms of clothing. It became obvious that it didn't really matter, so we gave up on all of that, had a beer and relaxed. Saturday morning came and after more faff and a short drive we were at Bowness unloading and getting ready to ride.

Our bike choices all varied: Dad had gone for his MTB with slicks, rather than the higher gearing of his road bike; Ross opted for his flat-bar cross-inspired Cube; I, being a geek about these things, had rebuilt my old singlespeed up into an off-road drop-barred, hybrid-tyred, fully rigid 69er mongrel. Since we were YHA-ing for the night we didn't need much kit, so I'd restricted myself to my 15l OMM Pack, Dad had packed his small rack-top trunk, and Ross seemed to be carrying the kitchen sink. Still, as we pottered along the Solway coast, none of that mattered, it was sunny, we were on bikes, and another little adventure was on the go. The roll along to Carlisle was utterly uneventful, a little bit of tweaking saddle heights, a little tweaking of brakes, a lot of chatting, and a solo breakaway by Geoffrey (only to be reeled in on the next climb) and we were soon through Burgh by Sands and passing Ratlingate Scout camp at Kirkandrews-on-Eden, the scene of my first Cyclocross event many many years ago. We were soon over the Carlisle northern bypass, off the tarmac and onto the gravel and mud round Bitts Park and pulling up for our first appointed coffee stop of the weekend at the Turf Tavern. Large coffees all round, no muffins available but Mum had given up a Tunnocks Wafer each before we set off, so the refuelling commenced.

With the 'flat bit' of the first day out of the way, we knew the gradient was going to start going upwards as we set off again for Brampton, through the riverside parks and then backroads to Brunstock. After a short spell on the main A689The 'official' route takes a somewhat circuitous route through a bunch of little villages, which our official routeplanner had decided was 'too much of a faff', so we pacelined it along the main road. Not sure what the copper with the speed camera thought as we chuntered past:
Pyro: "He'll have a speed gun."
Ross: "Nah, I bet he's just pulled over for a snooze!"< pedal-pedal-pedal *peek into van* pedal-pedal-pedal >
Pyro: "Nope, he's definitely got a speed gun. Alright"
Officer "Alright."
But he didn't pull us over, so we must have been doing less than 60. One quick stop for a jimmy and a handful of Jelly Babies and we were off again, heading straight into Brampton itself with lunch in mind. After a bit of faff (the Farmer's Market was just shutting up shop, the pub that had outside tables wasn't serving food, the pub that was serving food didn't have outside tables, neither did the obvious tearoom) we found the Off the Wall coffee shop, grabbed the two little tables outside and parked ourselves. Toasties, wraps and a brew (and the only salad of the weekend), a nice sit in the sun, some funny looks off a gentleman on a mobility scooter and the world set almost to rights, and it was time to get going and get the legs ready for some proper hills. Oh joy.

From Brampton it was all fairly gentle to begin with, then just after Lanercost Priory, it started to rise. The climb up to Banks is a steep little so-and-so, and due to tuning issues, neither Dad or I could get into the 'Granny Ring', so it became a game of muscle. Through the hamlet and onto the scarp top things eased off, but it was the first properly out-of-breath moment of the weekend. The long undulating run to Birdoswald (Banna) was pleasant though, and one of the few bits that actually runs alongside the wall itself. We stopped for a quick picture on a section of the wall, then commenced descent, dropping down to Gilsland just as the sky darkened and a hailstorm started. We hit the T-junction as a group, Ross and I breaking right, Dad breaking left. "Where are you two going?" he yelled after us, as the hail started to fall. "Tea shop!" we replied, pointing out the chalkboard sign at the junction. We parked the bikes up and dived inside, found comfy chairs by the fireplace and ordered our coffee and teacakes for that vital mid-afternoon refuel.

Rising, sated, from our comfy chairs, we returned to our marginally less comfy saddles for the last leg of the day, the final 8-mile stretch to the YHA (and pub) where we were staying. The gradual rise out of Gilsland and over to Greenhead was okay, steady and undulating again. A nice little track diversion took us round over the Tipalt Burn and along the back side of that and the railway. Coming into Greenhead, we had the option of crossing back over the burn by bridge or ford: The ford looked more interesting, but discretion being the better part of valour, we all chickened out. And with good reason, the one bit of the ride we'd sort of been fearing (well, the next bit after the climb to Banks): Greenhead Bank, a quarter mile of 1:4, then 1:10 to the summit at the turnoff to Carvoran. Sustrans have done a great job of putting in a gravel cycle path set back off the road, but there's only one small hitch with it: Turning off the road and up through a bike barrier (presumably to stop motorbikes using it) robs you of any momentum you might have wanted for the early - and steep - bit of the climb. Since two of us were having front mech issues, we decided that walking is just another gear, and proceeded to engage that one.

From the top we had another 'Navigator's Choice' route, and deviated from the official Route 72 guide. The main route descends back down from beyond Carvoran to Haltwhistle (supposedly the 'Centre of Britain', but the Ordnance Survey and a farmer from Dunsop Bridge disagree), then follows the valley to Bardon Mill before climbing the same height back up to the Stanegate, just south of Once Brewed where we were staying. Instead of playing this game of drop-and-climb-again, we gave small thanks to General Wade and pacelined along the old Military Road, undulated along at some pace, fuelled by the knowledge of impending shower and food, and soon saw the big green triangle come into sight. Shower, clean clothes, pub dinner, a pint of liquid anaesthetic or two, a little light conversation and an early night and we'd be all ready to do it all over again tomorrow!

Monday, January 14, 2013

It's been a funny old road for the last couple of years... or a funny old river, maybe. In my little journey to get back into kayaking properly I've been through a little bit of a revolution, a couple of different boats, one coaching course and an awful lot of thinking and analysis. And after the weekend just gone, I think I'm starting to get somewhere.

Like they always say in addiction counselling, admitting you have a problem is the first step, and this post on UK Rivers was that first step for me. It took me a long time to write, a lot of thinking, a lot of deliberating as to whether I should post it or not, but like an addict taking the same first step, I stuck it and got a wonderfully positive response. Some great advice from top-level coaches, some "you are not alone" comments from other 'mortal' boaters, and a good set of thoughts and ideas from everyone.

One quote in the UK Rivers topic stood out: "Consider your motivation for taking part in the sport and what you want to get out of it. If you know what you want, you can focus your efforts to achieve it more effectively". At the risk of sounding like an old man, I paddle with a Uni club full of gung-ho kiddies who want to progress as fast as possible and run the hardest, gnarliest, nastiest stuff they can. Frankly, I wish them luck. My aim is thus: I want to enjoy paddling, in control, regardless of grade. I'd rather have a fun day hitting every tiny little eddy on a Grade 2/3 rapid in perfect control and style than scaring myself silly sketching my way down a grade 4+/5 and "getting away with it" again. That's not to say I don't want to run harder things in the future, but I want to run everything with control and be happy, not just pinball my way down them and survive.

The psychology of doing that is an oddity, though, and I've talked about this on a lot of different levels, to a lot of different people, for a lot of different reasons. The confidence games that go on in your head can be a great boost or an awful limitation to you, and they're never the same from day to day. I've had a wonderful weekend this weekend (which I'll expand on later) but Saturday started with my head saying "Woohoo! Let's go boating!" and Sunday with "Why are we doing this?". Both days ended up being equally awesome, but Sunday took a lot more perseverance and effort to make it all worthwhile. Those easy sunny Saturday-type days are what I want, what I need, but are sometimes few and far between. Those grey, grinding Sunday-type days are more common but much, much harder, even if the extra effort is almost always worth it. The two go hand in hand, but there's another good aim: I want to make Saturday-type days the norm and Sunday-type days a rarity.

Once we've plucked up the courage to get out of bed, into paddling kit and on the river, what next? Someone in that topic said "you obviously have some good skills, you wouldn't have got this far if you didn't", and they're right. I do have some good skills, they just don't always shine through if my mind doesn't want to play ball. There's the delightful Catch-22 of wanting to work on progressing some of those skills, but being held back by a lack of faith in their existence. One of the books mentioned on that page, Inner Skiing, deals with this really well, identifying two 'selfs'. The first is the voice that nags you from the back of your mind saying "you can't do that, you'll blow it, what if it goes wrong?". The second doesn't speak, just sits quietly but knows exactly what you can do and exactly how to do it. Quieting the first and letting the second do its job is something that takes work. Acknowledgement that some of those skills are a little rusty and need some work, that I'm not invincible and that I do sometimes get things wrong is fine, that's called being human. And being firmly seated in the departure lounge of my comfort zone every once in a while is not a bad thing, those excursions to the edge of the envelope are definitely necessary if I want to progress. Which I do, in case you'd missed the point of this post.

In terms of those progressing those skills, I went on a 4-Star Kayak training course at the start of December. The BCU coaching and awards system changed a couple of years ago, and the awards are reviewed and updated with a fair degree of regularity. In the 'old scheme' I held a few decent awards (4-star Inland kayak, 4-star Sea kayak, 3-star Inland open canoe) but they were all attained 10+ years ago. In ten years, things have progressed: Boat design has changed; the best way to handle those new boat designs has changed; technique, in terms of physiology and best practice, is similar but subtly different now. The old 4-star I held was vastly different to the 4-star I'm working towards now. The new award is split into 'personal skills' and 'leadership skills', one of which I'm pretty good on, one of which needs work. Having some professional coaching for the first time since... nineteen ninety-something?... gave me the areas for some work, and a lot of it seems related to out-of-date techniques, unsurprisingly. That weekend was two great days of paddling on classic river sections that I knew well, with some great people, but it highlighted a few gaps, a few tweaks to make and some things to aim for. If I went for an assessment now, I have no doubt I'd fail. I might pass if I had an exceptionally good day with an understanding/partially sighted assessor - I'll not bring luck into it, I believe you make your own luck - but it would be an outside bet. So that's another tangible target: Pass my new 4-star. I'm not placing a time limit, it will take as long as it takes, but it's something to work towards for my own benefit.

And after those three aims, as I said earlier, I've had an excellent weekend.

3 of us took to the Leven and Kent on Saturday, both rivers I've had a distinct fear of in the past. Backbarrow fall on the Leven has put the wind up me for a long time, and I've often got out (unnecessarily) to inspect the line and psyched myself out while doing it. A friend stopped me doing the same last year, as we sat in a mid-stream eddy he said "Don't inspect it. You know the line, you know how to hit it. So go and do it". And I did, and I hit it the cleanest I ever have. On Saturday, I did the same again. The section around Fisherman's Island at the end of the river is the same, it's caught me out so many times before that I've avoided the harder right-hand route to bimble through the easy left. This time, I dropped into an eddy on the lip, looked into the channel and thought "What exactly was it about this that worried me?". Not the mind overcoming itself here, but skill overcoming it - every time I'd run it in the past I'd rushed round the corner and straight into the channel, tensed up, in survival mode, hoping I was in about the right place, and suffered for it. This time I dropped into the eddy and broke the section in two, made sure I could get to the right place, then set off again. A small revolution, a victory for common sense and confidence.

Sunday was a trip to an old stomping ground, the Tees Barrage Whitewater Centre, and it started badly. After such a good day on real, natural rivers on Saturday, we were headed to a grey, concrete manmade course. The advantage of the concrete course is lots of good features close together. The disadvantage is, if you screw up, you're almost certainly going to get flushed through a couple more of those features. Maybe that played a role in the headgame, maybe it's that most of the smaller eddies are boily and fast flowing, apt to feed you back into the feature if you stop concentrating, maybe it's that I'm still not sure how good my whitewater roll is, maybe it's that I'm still not happy with being stuck in stoppers. Either way, I wasn't a happy bunny, but fortunately it only took one good move to change that.

There's a drop at the bottom of the course, called the Acid Drop, which is fairly infamous. Since the course is partially tidal, at low tides the Acid Drop is at it's highest, and the stopper at the bottom at it's nastiest. As I worked my way down the course on my first run, Tom caught me up and said "Have you been through the Acid Drop yet?" No, I said, I hadn't made it that far yet. "Go left or right, one of the two". Hmmm... ominous. Three of us headed down towards the bottom of the course, and I consciously left a good gap between myself and Heather in front of me, just in case. I rounded the last corner to see Ellie's boat upside down, flushing away from the hole, and Heather's boat, also upside-down, very much still in the hole. I went right, as hard right as I could, hit a boof stroke and piled my weight over the front of the boat, in case the tail caught the hole. A tiny kick of the noise upwards, a quick glance round, and I found I'd boofed straight into the safety of the right hand eddy.

I laughed, kept paddling, some good runs, some great, fun-but-challenging little moves, a couple of sketchy moments (have now discovered the practical application of the 'inside drive' method of breaking out: It saves you from ending up stuck on boily, squirrelly, horrible eddy lines because you tried to skid-turn and didn't carve into the eddy fully), but afterwards I thought about what would have happened if Tom hadn't warned me, if I hadn't gone for the corner, if I'd got stuffed in the hole like Heather did. Chances are I would have swum, and that would have made my bad day worse, rather than hitting something tricky and challenging which made my bad day much, much better.

But, anyway, onwards and upwards. I'm headed back to the Lakes next weekend with the Uni club, let's see where we end up and what happens. I'm looking forward to it...